To Lay At God's Feet
by trimurti
Summary: [FE7] Life at Bern's Mount Uchitel Colliery is fraught with poverty, misery, and tragedy. Natalie cooks, cleans, and tries not to let her leg bother her too much. On hiatus; 2/5.
1. Tin

To Lay At God's Feet

(C) Intelligent Studios and Nintendo

Dedicated to Vestrwald, whose offhanded comment opened a world for me.

-0-

01. Tin

"Looks like we've got a new bunch."

Natalie raised her head from her mending at her brother's voice, peering out the dusty window that never seemed to want to get clean and watched the new line of workers mill past their row house. They weren't dragging their feet from the weight of chains and they held their heads up high, but she still asked, "Do you think these ones are prisoners, Danny?"

His gaze flickered towards her from where he stood, just on the other side of the window. They were 'Bernese twins', born ten months apart, and although she was the elder he looked it far more than she ever could. With his smoke-worn voice and the frown lines gathering at the corners of his eyes and his mouth, he resembled their papa so strongly that some mornings the fear she felt for his life coiled tightly inside her belly and wouldn't loosen until he dragged himself home in the evening. It wasn't an uncommon fear here at the Uchitel Colliery, not at all, so she kept it to herself and didn't burden her brother with her worries, just as she knew he kept his concerns about taking care of the both of them deep inside himself.

"Prisoners don't look like that. Look at them." Bitterness seeped into his words. "They look proud. They look like they think they can crack the mountain open and all the gold's gonna pour right out." With a grunt of annoyance, he dug into the pocket of his worn pants for the tin box that held his cigarettes.

"I keep telling you to do that outside," Natalie huffed. "I can't exactly get away from you and that stink."

She was sorry she said those words as soon as they passed her lips. Daniel wouldn't even look at her as he walked out of their home, the dull tread of his worn boots the exact sound of the fear that thudded inside of her during sleepless nights. Ever since Papa's death from the mine explosion at the Umin Ridge Colliery eight years ago, they had been each other's only family. Daniel had already been a veteran of mine work at that time, as fourteen-year-old boy-men were never in short supply at any of Bern's mines, and she had already almost lost him a few times since then. Illnesses, gas explosions, mine collapses...these too were never in short supply, either.

As she always did whenever she remembered just how easily their lives could end, Natalie pushed her thoughts away and tried to focus on something else. It was a holy day in honor of Saint Elimine, and that was the only reason her brother had been home before dusk. The afternoon sun burned through the window, lighting up their one-room hovel--one of the nicer homes in the mining village, one of several unnamed shantytowns dotting the base of Mount Uchitel. She had grown to like their home, though the constant dust drifting from the mountain never seemed to go away no matter how much time she spent doing laundry and wiping down the few pieces of furniture they had managed to squirrel away for themselves. Two beds, the frames worm-eaten and only getting creakier with each passing year, had been shoved into one corner, separated by a drawer that held all the clothes they owned in the world--less than ten outfits between the both of them, but she was handy with a needle and soon she was hoping to buy some more sturdy cloths before winter blanketed the mountain. The door was before their beds; the other side of the room was crowded with an honest-to-God stone and iron stove which burned through firewood like her brother did his breakfast and dinner, coughing up smoke that didn't help her cleaning any since the pipe began to rust from the rains last spring, and a table with three mismatched chairs. Sometimes her brother liked to invite one of the other workers home for a good meal, which she never complained about even though they didn't really have any food to spare.

This was Natalie's world. This was her world.

She shook her head at her growing self-pity and made to finish her mending before she had to begin dinner. Her brother would be sure to make it back by then, him and his bottomless stomach; she laughed at the thought, hands shaking enough to ruin her perfect stitches. It didn't matter, though, as the coarse, durable cloth she was working with was one of Daniel's shirts--he'd find some other way to ruin it, always coming home with rips and tears and a sheepish expression that exasperated her every time, as if he were a little boy on the verge of babbling explanations and apologies and not a grown man of twenty-two who worked every day in the mines until his fingers oozed blood and his light brown hair was dark with mountain dust filled with more precious metals than he seemed to be digging out of the mine shafts. No matter how much he was grinding out his life in those dark pits, no matter how much more worn down he looked to her at the end of each day, that he could still look young, that he had any innocence left at all despite all the horrible things she had heard going down in the village, made her want to work even harder to make sure her younger brother could always hold on to that last scrap of purity.

If only it weren't for her leg, she thought, she always thought. If she was healthier she could've been married by now, which would ease her brother's burden enough that he could have his own life, fulfill his own dreams. She didn't know what those were, but then again she didn't have many dreams herself; what filled her mind during the inescapable silence between chores and her brother's appearances were as hazy and forgettable as the sun on overcast days.

It was probably all right like that. If she had a dream, she wouldn't be any happier. With her body the way it was, how was she supposed to do anything about it?

By the time she finished her work, the light that had formerly poured into her home was now at a trickle. After she carefully bundled up her needle and thread within the mended shirt, she reached out with her left hand to grip the back of her chair--the only chair they owned with a proper back, something Daniel had been so proud to present to her on her nineteenth birthday, her best birthday--before putting her weight on her hand to rise to her feet. Walking wasn't too bad for her most of the time, but it always was a pain for her to get up and sit down because of the way her right foot and leg were. She called it a childhood illness, but the illness had never ended; her foot was gnarled, the toes permanently curled inward, and her ankle was weak and didn't allow her to move her foot around like normal people's could. Her papa had worked for years to scrape up enough money to get it fixed, but the doctor hadn't been good and made her foot even worse, scarring it for life when he'd tried to flatten it out with a large, sharp stone and a knife to pry out her toes. Her right leg was also a little shorter than her perfect left leg, but she'd take limping any day over the mess that was her foot. Even now, as she made her way from the chair to her bed, she could feel the dull ache of her ankle, complaining piteously like a child ready to start bawling if it wasn't attended to fast enough. This wasn't one of her better days, not when she was collapsing onto her bed with a small cry of relief just from the effort of crossing the room, but she made to ignore the pain as she unwrapped her needle and roll of thread from the shirt, putting her things on top of the drawers and placing her brother's shirt in his drawer, the one on the bottom. Resisting the urge to just lay back on her bed, she pushed herself up with a groan and headed to the stove.

By the time she heard her brother stomping his feet outside the door, she was stirring at dinner, making sure it didn't stick to the edges of the pan. Rabbit meat, green sprouts, and some chopped onion she had been using for near about a week now--this was the dinner they had during the warm months. She was just scooping out the last clinging bits onto Daniel's plate (he always did like the burnt pieces for their crunchiness) when he entered their home. "Smells good, Sis!" he announced as he pried off his worn deerhide boots, his voice a little too loud to be sincere. Her suspicions were confirmed when he stepped up to the table while she was sitting down and she caught the eye-watering stench of cigarette smoke and sour mash, to which she only rolled her eyes.

"It's a holy day and you're drinking?"

Her brother smiled lazily, just deep enough in his cups to be incorrigible. "I was drinking to the good saint's health."

She had to bite down on the obvious retort, shaking her head as Daniel gracefully stumbled into his seat. "You're terrible," she said, unable to hide her smile.

"No, but seriously," he started, pausing to shove a forkful of food into his mouth. After he swallowed, he began waving his fork like he always did when he had something he wanted to say and wanted everyone else to know it, too. "I went down to get a closer look at the new guys. You know how they always find their way to Mackson's. And you have to drink if you want to stay, and I wanted to stay." He was giving her that look, that soulful look that was all but begging her to forgive him, even though he was his own man and could drink whenever he liked. Natalie knew better--her brother only liked a cup or two every once in a while, usually once or twice every six months. He had good discipline otherwise, and watching how some of the old miners took to drinking like it was their only reason for living made him shun it as much as possible.

He had to drink, though. It'd be impossible for any miner to stay away for good, not with the way their lives were. She understood that much.

"Were there any good ones?" she asked, concerned but trying to hide it. Daniel didn't seem to notice, steadily working through his meal as he was.

"There were--" he coughed, then swallowed. "The ones I saw don't look bad...can't count on them, though. Don't think they've ever worked at a real mine before. Maybe some quarry, bashing rocks all day. With work like that, it's no wonder we have so many bandits."

Neither of them spoke the sentence she was sure was running through his head, just like it was hers: That, and the fact that the local lords didn't care about anything other than their gold. Uchitel Colliery, like any other mine, used its own workers as guards whenever bandits came roving about. Daniel never had to go, seeing as he was too valuable in the mine shafts, but he did oversee who was going to do guard duty and was good at forming groups that made sure no bandit ever got past the worn gates. No one had chosen him for that job, he just picked it up on his own.

She thinned her lips. Her brother was always thinking about her. She didn't know what she would do without his kindness.

"I'm sure there's going to be someone you can count on," Natalie said softly, and after he shrugged there was silence between them for the rest of the meal.

-0-

Laundry day, laundry day.

Natalie dragged the half-filled sack of dirty clothes with the help of a thick length of rope slung over her shoulder. She never let it get full, mostly because the burlap sack was too large to be filled by their measly amount of clothes, though she wondered if it would be easier to pull if the bag was tight and oval, rather than lumpy and flat. Sometimes the back of her flat-heeled simple slippers, the only shoes she could wear without discomfort, hit the sack, though she had been doing this for so long that she rarely stumbled when it did happen.

The day was overcast, dampening what little cheerful mood could exist in the ramshackle row houses of the colliery shantytown. She barely twitched when she heard a yell from further down the row, then a hard slap and resulting cry. The yell had been male, and Daniel had long since gone to the mines; she could only imagine how much worse that hungover miner was going to make the rest of his family today on top of losing the day's wages. Natalie kept her head down as she walked, though the street was empty, her hands gripping the rope so tightly she knew she was going to find marks on them once she reached the river. The back of her heel hit the sack, but all she could was keep pulling forward with a resolution she knew was not uncommon in the mountain-bound village. Other sounds reached her through the thin, pine walls of the row houses, sounds of mothers yelling, children screaming, clattering iron pans, laughter, arguments--it all reached her as she dragged her laundry down the gray road, though nothing seemed as loud to her as her own breathing.

Uchitel River was close by. It came from the mountain, and it was one of the biggest sites when the '67 Gold Rush began. Someone found gold glittering in the river while they were taking a break from their journey, and the next thing anyone knew everyone was coming to one of the most inhospitable regions in south-eastern Bern and trying to make it rich. Nobody really did, other than the nobles of the area, but it was a hope and a dream that dug deep into the hearts of the men who came here and never really went away no matter how much they were proven wrong. When the rush died down in AS 971, the nobles brought criminals to horde what they could from the mountain, but recently would-be miners were appearing in droves again. Natalie had long since been here, carried on her papa's back during the beginning of the rush, and she figured she might be here until the day she died.

Most of the new miners were former soldiers. Daniel would tell her that there was something wrong with the king, and he'd laugh and say that they were better off here after all. She never said anything at those times, because she could see the weariness bearing down on him, carving lines under his eyes, and she knew neither of them wanted to broach the truth: that maybe it was no good being Bernese, that there was something wrong with their country and the nobles and the king most of all.

When she reached the river, she found a young girl there working at a grease-caked shirt with the last scrapings of soap. Natalie sat down a ways and made to start working on her brother's clothes first, since her own clothes didn't need half as much effort as his did and she was running out of soap too. The girl, who Natalie dimly recognized as being the daughter of one of the oldest full-time miners, glanced at her, then at the chunk of soap in her hand. With a smile, Natalie broke off a piece for the girl, sighing a bit to herself when the soap cracked off into more pieces. Fragments clung to her wet hands as she wiped off a couple of the bigger bits into the girl's hand. The girl smiled carefully at her, like she had a sore tooth, before she bent her head and got right back to work on her daddy's shirts. Natalie couldn't help but notice how the girl's dress hung loosely off her thin body--the poor thing probably really did have a sore tooth. She'd heard that at one of the other shantytowns at the mountain there was a priest, which was the best thing next to a doctor and probably even better than that after her own experience with one, but she couldn't imagine the girl's father would dare take a day off from work to take his daughter out to find him. Wages were as bad as they ever got, now that the miners had to work deep in the mountain to find even the smallest fraction of gold. With none of the towns reaching the impossible quotas the nobles had set for them, it was all anyone could do to live as well as they did.

The girl left first, soaking the front of her dress with the bundle of wet clothes she was carrying back, her thin body leaning over the bundle as her spindly, perfect legs took long strides back to the village. Once Natalie couldn't see the girl anymore over her shoulder, she carefully took off her shoes and placed them in the water, watching the clear water stream over her feet. It felt nicer on her left foot than her right, but it was just enough to know that her right foot still had feeling in it, no matter how ugly it looked.

After she was done scrubbing the clothes, she let her feet soak in the cool water until she could see the dull glow from the sun start to arch towards the west.

Laundry day, laundry day. What a nice day.

-0-

About a week later, Daniel told her he'd bring someone over for dinner the next day.

She was smiling while cooking, because while she may not have enough food, she really did like cooking for others. It made her happy to have people enjoying her food, and it didn't take as much out of her as cleaning did. She did have to clean that morning, but a nap refreshed her and calmed the dull ache of her ankle enough to tackle the cooking. Josiah, one of her brother's friends and a decent hunter in his own right, came by with a couple jackrabbits and left with the skins after she had finished with them. Soon, she had a proper stew simmering in the pot and she was able to work on some mending she'd agreed to do for some of the bachelor mine workers in exchange for whatever vegetables they could gather up, plus a couple shots of half-decent liquor to spice up the stew some. Daniel really liked that, she knew, and so would any friend he'd bring home, since they were all men--sometimes the thought would flit in her mind that one day he'd bring home a nice girl, but he'd only laugh if she brought it up. She still hoped it'd happen one day, just as much as she feared it.

As soon as she fixed up Johann's spare pair of pants, she heard voices outside her door and smiled to hear how happy her brother sounded. Whenever she saw him with others, it always amazed her how much brighter he seemed in comparison, like the full moon in a sky full of stars. She rose to her feet when the door was opened, wanting to greet her brother's friend properly without incurring the looks of pity that were inevitable because everyone knew about her condition, her hands flat against the table.

Daniel entered their home first with a smile, a wave, and a, "I'm back, Nattie!" Then his friend followed behind, and suddenly Natalie was glad she was supported by something as she stared at the newcomer in surprise and amazement. Her brother seemed to notice, because he let loose a bark of laughter, doubling over when she glared at him in embarrassment. "You should've seen your face!" Daniel crowed. She decided to ignore her foolish brother and tried to smile at his giant of a friend. His friend nodded back. Not really too good with starting conversations with people she didn't know, Natalie could feel her lips stiffening as she kept smiling like any good hostess would've done.

Thankfully, her brother finally got over his amusement. "Okay, sorry," he said, wiping his hands down the front of his pants. "Natalie, this is Dorcas. He's one of the new guys who came in with the last group. He does good work. Hey." Daniel tapped Dorcas' meaty forearm with the back of his hand to get his friend's attention. "This is my big sister, Natalie. She's had to put up with me for her whole life, so be kind to her, okay?"

Natalie rolled her eyes at her brother's standard introduction, knowing that it was the reason why she was accepted so well around the shantytown. None of the miners her brother talked to ever disrespected her, though they sure didn't mind doing it to the other women. She thought it had something to do with his mixture of kindness and force, friendly but willing to stand up and fight if he had to. In this case, she thought the warning was lost on his new friend; there were quiet types, and then there was this Dorcas. "Danny, leave him alone," she said after a heartbeat of utter silence. "Those kind of words don't go well with dinner."

Her brother slanted his gaze to meet hers. "Yeah, you're right." Tapping his friend again, he nodded his head towards the direction of the table. "I was telling you my sister cooked the best meals in all the villages of Uchitel, right? Here's the proof right here. C'mon."

If she had to tell the truth later on, this first night didn't make much of an impression on Natalie. Dorcas never said more than mumbles of agreement when he was coaxed, and she wasn't the type who could get anyone to talk if they didn't want to. Her brother was, but like the full moon sometimes he shone a little too bright. He was in too good of a mood tonight, changing from one subject to another with no provocation, craving an audience more than conversation. It wasn't as if she minded; as soon as he had been old enough, Daniel had always spoken for the both of them. What she did remember about this night, then, was the warm feeling she had always felt when there was more than just herself and her brother at the table, when her brother was allowed to fully shine after a long day of backbreaking work at the mines, when the two of them could simply be without having the hopelessness of their situation weighing them down. Dorcas allowed all this to happen without a complaint, listening and nodding and definitely enjoying her stew, if the multiple servings proved one thing. There was a definite feeling of contentment in the one-room row house that night, just as nice as having cool mountain water rushing over her feet.

She didn't know Dorcas very well, but Natalie was kind of grateful towards him anyway.

-to be continued...-

Because if it's the last thing I do, I'm going to write a story for every married couple in FE7 with at least one playable unit. Apparently.

I'm trying something a little different with this one, working more on building atmosphere through the setting rather than characterization. I have a feeling that's not quite what happened, but I hope you enjoyed this chapter anyway. This will be a monthly serial released on the first Monday of each month, and there are five parts in all. I'd love to hear what you think, so please feel free to review if you like. Thank you for reading!


	2. Copper

To Lay At God's Feet

(C) Intelligent Studios and Nintendo

-0-

02. Copper

Daniel had to leave at dawn every day. That meant Natalie had to cook breakfast by candlelight.

She'd been doing this for years, first for their papa and then for her brother, ever since she was eight or so. Because of this, she had enough stamina to stand for long periods of time, so she was grateful for the work. Daniel was grateful too, or at least he'd better be. The stray thought made her smile as she smeared lard on the pan before lighting the wood under the stove with a match. They were running out of them quicker than she'd been expecting, which meant that her brother was filching them again for that nasty habit of his. She made a note about yelling at him later; right now there was no time. Behind her back, she could hear him curse as he tried to put on a shirt and resisted turning around, afraid she'd see new bruises or scarring on his back. Then she'd want to yell, even though it wouldn't help either of them by doing so.

They both knew what living this life would cost them. What was the point in lashing out now?

The lard sizzled, and she poured the batter for hot cakes--flour, egg, and water. Not much, but it was edible and easy to make all year round. She always made an extra one for Daniel to take for his lunch, since he barely had any time to come back home before the foreman wanted them up and working again. Flipping the cake, she waited until she smelled the first hint of burning before tossing that one on his plate and starting her own cake. She liked to eat with him before he left, then go back to bed until the sky was light. This was a privilege, she knew--if she had children, she wouldn't be getting any more sleep for the rest of the night.

By the time she was finishing his lunch, he was already sitting down at the table and tearing apart his hot cake into fluffy chunks with his fork. "This is really good!" he tried to exclaim around a mouthful of it, though the words that came out...weren't. Embarrassed for him, Natalie rolled her eyes as she took a bite of her breakfast. "What?"

"Daniel, don't speak with your mouth full!" she scolded him.

He swallowed before grinning at her, the candlelight giving his face an evil look she didn't like at all. It lasted until she lightly smacked the back of his hand, which was when he yelped and began nursing it like she'd done him a mortal blow. "Na-ttie, that's mean! I have to go to work injured now--"

"Oh, you!" She tried to hold a severe look, but when he burst out laughing so did she. That lasted until someone began banging on their wall from the left side, but it was well worth it. He shoveled down the rest of his breakfast before standing up, reaching over the table to tap her on the forehead. When she sputtered and glared up at him, he gave her a lopsided grin.

"Be a good girl while I'm at work, okay, Nattie-bug?"

She scoffed at him. "Who is older here, Danny? Take your lunch and get going. You don't want the foreman to have any reason to dock your pay."

"Yeah, I know." Daniel rolled up the hot cake left for his lunch and wrapped it up before putting it into the pocket of his worn pants. Before he left, he looked back and said, "Sis, I'm going to bring Dorcas over tonight. A big guy like him needs all the food he can get, right?"

"Why don't you give me more warning?" Despite her words, Natalie was a bit happy. Daniel had taken a real liking to his new friend, so she'd seen Dorcas at least once a week since he'd first come over a couple months ago. The summer was giving way to fall, so being able to work on a stew for hours provided the heat their little shanty so desperately needed. She still didn't know Dorcas himself too well, quiet man that he was, but she liked her brother having a friend that wasn't too objectionable. For all his bluster and charisma, he could be easily influenced. That was how he started up with the smoking in the first place.

Her brother grinned at her in that way that made her want to forgive him right on the spot, and then he opened the door and was gone.

-0-

The town never seemed so lively as when the priest came around.

Everyone in Bern believed in God and that the good saint Elimine was His voice, but the Bernese Head Church didn't send out its priests to tend to the flock as much as they could. That was what Natalie believed, because out over on Mount Uchitel there was only one priest going around to all the villages. While Natalie wasn't sure how many villages there were around the base of the mountain, hers was only graced with the presence of the holy man a couple times a year--though he could be persuaded to come around faster for a bit of gold dust pinched from the mine.

She didn't hate him and she didn't like him, the former because he did free healing on his normal trips and the latter because he never seemed to do enough to help them. His sermons never seemed to do a lick of good, but he worked just as hard at collecting water and cleaning the sick like any other villager.

He cringed when he first saw her leg, and although she couldn't blame him she never really forgave him for that either.

Now he was back in the village, staying at the home of the foreman, who answered only to the steward of the local lord, and everyone was clamoring for his attention on this holy day. Natalie was sitting right outside her open door while her brother leaned on the cheap pine wood wall next to her, the both of them watching as the dirt road crowded with everyone dressed in their very best. She'd had a lot of people coming to her for mending just to get ready for this day, though no one cared about their clothing on holy days when the priest wasn't around. For their part, neither she nor Daniel dressed up any better, though she did do laundry a couple days ago and their clothes were mostly clean. This holy day was to celebrate the coming of the new season, as Saint Elimine was also regarded as a sort of harvest goddess, though what everyone was hoping to harvest wasn't vegetables and fruit but gold. The festival had the priest walking down the main street with his bodyguard holding up an icon of the saint behind him, and everyone who wanted good luck in the season were to touch her feet and pray in supplication. Though she couldn't see the priest or the white cap he wore on his head to hide his growing bald spot, she could still see the copper of the icon, so unnaturally bright as it was against the pallid flesh of the miners and the washed-out colors of everyone's clothing.

Her brother drew out his cigarette tin from his pocket and tossed it idly from one hand to the other. "Say, Natalie, you want to touch the saint's feet?"

Making a noise at the back of her throat, she rubbed at the heel of her mutilated foot. "What good's that ever done me?" she said, trying not to sound too bitter. Ever since she'd seen that the icon's feet were perfect even though it was a statue, a statue that was carried around from place to place at that, she'd had an anger towards it that she knew was misplaced but she couldn't stop herself from feeling.

They watched the crowd come closer to them in silence for a few moments before her brother offered, "I'll carry you there if you want. So the crowd won't bother you."

"So I won't bother the crowd," she retorted, deeply embarrassed by her attitude but unwilling to stop. It was just--wasn't she allowed to feel like this? Just a little?

She heard Daniel grunt before he pushed off from the wall. "I guess there's always next season for you to pull yourself together," were the words he tossed behind his shoulder before he started forward, towards the crowd inching ever closer.

The masses of people, the chattering, screaming, crying; the sickly sheen of the icon with its greenish patches that were more and more visible the closer it got to her--all of it gave Natalie a headache.

She went back inside and shut the door behind her.

-0-

She stayed moody for the next week, annoyed by everything and nothing for no real reason other than that she was alive and forced to exist in this world. Not that she had any wish to die, either; it was just that sometimes she was sick of living like this, where nothing ever changed. Added to that was the fact that her body and mind seemed to be in two different places--her stitching was uneven, her cooking prone to burning, her brother trampling on her last nerve again and again.

And her leg was hurting something awful, enough to bring tears to her eyes when something pinched up inside her foot.

Today was no different, and that was why she was alone even though it was another holy day--her brother had escaped to the nastier part of the village after she yelled at him about taking her matches. With nothing to do--or rather, no interest in ruining things even further--she was laying on her bed, staring up at the uneven slants of the ceiling and hoping that, once the first rains of the season came through, the roof wouldn't leak onto her bed like it did a couple years ago. Daniel had gotten a friend of his to fix it then, but when she saw the black spider crawl out from between two slants coated in mud to hold them together she knew she couldn't expect a dry fall or winter this year.

After watching the spider skitter down one beam, she decided that some fresh air would do her some good. She could walk over to the river, though it was too chilly now to trust her feet with the water without getting a cold or worse in return. Grabbing a knitted sweater, over four years old yet still overlarge on her body, she made her way out the door and onto the road. She shivered as a cold wind blew past her, ducking her chin into the collar of her sweater as best she could as she walked down to the river. Due to the holy day, most people were either keeping indoors or were causing a ruckus gambling or drinking; the priest wasn't going to make an appearance today, so it was the same old, same old like any other holiday. It made her cringe to think of what her brother was up to, especially when he'd just gotten his wages yesterday, but she was the one who'd scared him off to begin with.

There was someone at the bank of the river, a huge lump of a man. Natalie blinked, then edged closer--he hadn't heard her, so he wasn't turning around, but he looked familiar. He had the muscled back of a miner, but what skin of his she could see was a light golden brown and none of the workers working in the mines from dawn to dusk could ever manage more than a pallid complexion at best. His head, which had been bowed when she first noticed him, lifted enough for her to see his short, auburn-red hair...

"Dorcas!" she half-called, half-exclaimed in surprise.

He had a way of reacting that she had never seen before, like he was utterly unsurprised by anything. It was more like he had a lack of reacting, which was so unlike her brother she wasn't sure what to make of it. As it was, he only glanced over his shoulder at her, then tilted his head, no expression on his face. "Natalie."

"Um, hi." She wanted to approach him, but he didn't exactly look like he wanted her around. It didn't help that she wasn't used to be around men when her brother wasn't there to intimidate them. "I'm...I'm sorry, am I bothering you?" He gave her an odd look at that, making her even more nervous. "I'll, um, leave you alone, then."

"Stay."

"You're sure?" she blurted out before she could help herself. He only stared at her, looking like it wouldn't matter to him either way what she did, and that strangely made her feel daring, like she wanted to challenge that bland expression on his face until either it or she dissolved like so much dust on the wind. Taking careful, slow steps so as not to strain her foot and embarrass herself before him--though that'd be some way to force some emotion on that face of his, she thought with some amusement--she walked up to the bank of the river and sat beside him, though not so close that she'd disturb him.

Since it was already mid-afternoon, there was hardly any birdsong or even birds; the cold became too nippy for them around mid-fall and they usually gathered up in huge flocks and headed west, towards Lycia, where she heard didn't get much snow even in the areas near the mountains like Pherae. They did get snow here sometimes, even down south as they were, but it usually ended up as slush that made the streets too dangerous for her to walk on and seeped into the wood of their shanty, rotting it bit by bit. She'd heard a couple years ago that the foreman was promising new wood so long as the quota was made--that was what the steward had told him and he was telling them. But they'd been scraping that mine clean for so long that there was no way that quota was going to be made, and the local lord took back his offer. It was one of the many reasons there was bad blood between the miners and the lords, and it was all well-deserved on the lords' side. Who knows why the lords treated them so badly when the mines were as they were--just as her papa used to say, there was just no getting sweat from a dead man.

There's no getting sweat from stone-like men either, she thought as she gave Dorcas a sidelong glance. He didn't notice, or give any hint that he had, so fixed as he was on a square of paper resting on his lap. Looking a little closer, she found that the mess of lines on the paper looked like the scenery in front of them--remarkably so, not like there was anything to be seen there. Both in real life as in the picture, there was the other side of the river, a bank of gray stones that sometimes the older kids could be found playing on once they were able to escape their chores, some bushes that, every spring, would be filled to bursting with red berries no one was stupid enough to eat unless they wanted to risk a twisting, eye-watering stomachache that would cripple the stoutest man and send him home from the mines for days. After that were trees that held green leaves even when winter brought the odd snowstorm or two, and in Dorcas' drawing they were smudged the nicest shade of dark gray, giving them weight they hardly had in real life.

It was a nice drawing, real nice. She never would've imagined anyone could make something so nice out of the surroundings she had to bear with every week for years. It made her want to say something, even though Dorcas' taciturnity made her even shyer than she already was. "That's a very nice drawing, Dorcas," she commented, to which he glanced at her, silently. She paused, waiting for him to say something, and when he didn't her bravery quailed and she looked down. "That's just what I think, that's all," she muttered, a little annoyed he wouldn't say anything at all. That was only polite, wasn't it?

There was a rustle of paper, and then she felt a nudge on her shoulder; looking up, she found that he was handing her a whole sheaf of papers. "Here," he intoned, and while she knew what he meant by the action the flare of irritation that she'd been suffering from for the last few days got to her mouth before her manners did.

"What?"

He'd actually smiled at her, a slight one that lit up his dark, small eyes. "There are more here," he offered, still holding out the bundle of papers. Embarrassed at herself now, she took them without a word, back hunched over as she began to pore over the images of other worlds. That's what they were, entire new worlds; he had an eye for detail that seemed to miss nothing, opening new places she would never see in her life to her. Each paper was another place, miniature forests and rocky plains, a stable full of sleek horses, the town square of a village not much bigger than this one she lived in. It was this last one that caught her eye, this simple scene of a village nestled close to what looked like a forest. There were no people about, no people in any of his pictures in fact, but there were signs of life all the same, chimneys belching smoke, firewood gathered and left leaning against the wall of a house, a rabbit trap being fixed up at the porch of another house. It was all so pleasantly domestic, so full of a life she had never known and probably never would, that she felt her heart gripped by a powerful, blinding desire.

People lived like that. People could really live like that...

"You okay?"

Natalie started, deeply shaken by the sound of his quiet rumble of a voice. "Oh! I, um..." She held out the picture, hoping he'd take it out of her hands so she wouldn't have to think about--about things she couldn't have, but he only gave it an odd look before returning his gaze at her face again. "This one just caught my eye, that's all," she answered, feeling oddly shy, like she was a little girl standing behind her papa's leg, gripping it when he didn't have hands for her so that she could stand upright.

The memory pricked at a heart already weakened by Dorcas' picture, and behind her tight lips she clenched her teeth.

Dorcas glanced at the picture again before shrugging. "Take it."

"...Take it?" she repeated, feeling slow. "You mean, you want me to have it?"

"Yes."

"Um...that's really kind of you, but are you sure you won't miss it later?"

"I won't," he said with a firmness to his tone that made her think he was already beyond this moment, that he already considered the picture hers, and it was with some heat behind her cheeks that she carefully folded the picture lengthwise, then half that, to fit comfortably in the pocket of her dress.

"Thank you, Dorcas." Handing back the rest of his drawings to him, she couldn't help but remark, "You do a lot of traveling, don't you?"

He shrugged at this, collecting his pictures and shuffling them in his large hands until they were all neat, with no corners poking out where they shouldn't. "Here and there."

Natalie half-smiled, starting to get comfortable with his quiet ways. "How long do you think you'll be staying here?" she urged lightly. He glanced at her, no emotion on his face--or, she wondered, was it just that she couldn't read what was there?

"For a while."

"This is a sad place to stay for too long," she commented. "There's nothing here...not enough for you to make drawings of, anyway."

"No," he said, before rising from the riverbank. She wasn't sure if he was agreeing with her or not, and suddenly he was a giant before her and the mood between them had been broken, making her not want to ask further. The offering of his hand was as much a surprise as the drawings had been, and she stared at the huge, calloused hand for a moment before he said, with absolutely no impatience, "Come on."

She put her hand in his, amazed by how his hand seemed to completely dwarf it without even closing his fingers over her hand. Standing up, she squeezed the palm of his hand before letting go. "Dorcas, why don't you come over for dinner tonight? I'd really like to thank you for this lovely picture."

"All right," he said immediately, and she smiled. One thing that she couldn't say about him was that he was willing to refuse a meal. They walked together up the street to her house, and she found it pleasant even without any words shared between them. A life of silence wasn't hers to live, she thought, but his presence made the walk not as lonely as she was used to it being, and it was kind of funny to see the few people out-of-doors giving them weird looks. Probably she looked real funny next to Dorcas' massive frame, or he looked strange keeping to her pace, hobbled as she was and only able to make half the stride of a normal person--let alone his legs!

She laughed, then looked away when she saw him glancing at her.

At the front of her little row house was her brother, smoking up a literal storm of nasty-smelling clouds. When he noticed them, he immediately dropped the cigarette and crushed it under one worn boot and she had to hold back a sigh; he didn't know this, but every time he did that he would just end up tracking it inside the house and giving her just that much more work. "Sis!" he exclaimed as they drew near. "Where have you been?"

"I was out taking a walk when I ran into Dorcas," she said with a forced smile. In the light of the setting sun, Daniel's face looked a little fearsome with worry, worry that hadn't lessened even though she was here now.

"Dorcas, huh?" _You'd never know they were friends by the way he was staring up at Dorcas_, Natalie mused, put out by her brother's odd behavior. "I thought your leg was bothering you too much for that lately."

With a frown, she walked up to her brother, saying, "Right, but I can't stay inside forever. Anyway, Dorcas is going to be staying with us for dinner tonight, so I need to get that started."

"Yeah, okay. You start that up. I'm going to have a friendly talk with him out here for a bit."

Something about her brother's behavior was grinding on Natalie's last nerve, and she was about to say something to that effect when she took one more step up to him and smelled...something. This something was a little cloying and sweet, whispering into her mind thoughts of breathless little giggles and bright, vibrant colors and the sound of clinking gold coins for certain kinds of transactions. Of course, her brother was a man and had his own affairs to deal with, but that realization, along with his sudden bad attitude, brought down anger as real and quick as a streak of lightning through her body. "Danny, you _hypocrite_," she hissed right up to his ear, and when she moved back she was grimly pleased at the color crossing his face and his wide brown eyes.

"S-sis..." Then, he seemed to get a hold of himself after a shake of his head. "Nattie, just go on inside. We'll be in soon."

He was trying to win her favor, using her nickname and that placating tone of voice, and the only reason why she didn't say another word was because they both knew the threat she'd laid was still there--she may let him have his way most of the time, but she was still his big sister and he still had to come home at the end of the day. So she went inside and closed the door behind her, and in the darkening room she could hear Daniel saying _what do you think you're doing with my__ sister_ and she couldn't help but roll her eyes. "That boy..." she muttered.

Her hand reached down to her pocket, where her drawing was safely tucked inside, and she smiled.

-to be continued...-


End file.
